It's 3:30 in the morning. In another hour, Bernie will be home.
I would still be asleep in one of our comfy chairs if I hadn't had to get up to tend the fire. If Bernie had a sensible work schedule, he'd have been home an hour ago, added wood to the fire, had a snack, and maybe would have written a few words to his next Jean LeCoeur story.
How I hate his overtime hours.
I hate the weariness I see on his face the next day; I hate the hour-and-a-half loss of daylight time that he can't spend with me; I hate worrying that he'll get home safely in the fog. Most of all, I hate that it all happens because of mis-management at NUMMI, where Group Leaders stand around chatting and garnering attention, and managers disappear for fear that they'll be called on the carpet to explain why things aren't doing what they should be doing.
Yes, they'll pay for it some day, but tonight I'd rather be asleep, with my husband beside me, home safe, fed well, and sleeping a well-deserved sleep rather than the sleep of the totally exhausted.